


Trust Me

by Areiton



Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Superwolf, Threesome, happy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-03-22 06:15:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13758024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton
Summary: “What thehellare they doing here,” Stiles snaps.“Do you trust me,” Derek asks, squeezing his hand and the tension and anger drains out of Stiles as he licks his lips.





	Trust Me

The thing about Stiles was--he was a stubborn little shit.

Derek adored that about him, even while it drove him crazy.

They’d been together for three years now, long enough that Derek was pretty sure Stiles was thinking about forever--something he’d never not thought about--and that was all well and good except.

Except.

Stiles had never been with anyone else.

And _that_ was a little shard of worry that pushed under Derek’s skin and spread like wolfsbane.

 

~*~

 

Stiles was seventeen when Derek left Beacon Hills after evolving in Mexico. Seventeen and ancient, impossibly young and untouchable and everything Derek wanted and couldn’t have.

So he left, and spent three years wandering with Braeden.

Stiles was eighteen when he text Derek.

 

_You leaving doesn’t change how I feel or what I want. I’m still here. Still waiting for you to come back to me._

 

And he had. Despite the time, despite the long distance between them.

Despite every reason and opportunity to not--Stiles waited. He waited for Derek to come home, a loud, impossible to ignore presence in his thoughts and on his phone and in his dreams.

And when Derek finally gave in--

Stiles was there.

 

~*~

 

Derek thought about it a lot.

Not in the first year, when everything was new and fresh and Stiles was insatiable, desperate for every touch Derek gave him, whining and spilling hot down his throat, sobbing into the mattress when Derek licked him open, moaning shameless and loud when he rode Derek, impossibly quiet the first time he fucked Derek, moving his hips in the maddening little thrusts and gasping, quiet and broken when he finally came.

Then it was easy, magical, every touch a fucking _gift_ and Derek basked in being the first-- _only_ \--person to touch Stiles, to watch him come apart.

Stiles, who was always beautiful, was incandescent when he was sprawled naked in Derek’s bed, pale skin and dark moles against his grey sheets, cheeks flushed, eyes almost glowing, pink mouth bitten red and hanging open.

And Derek was the only one who got that, who _saw_ that.

It was every fucking thing he wanted.

Until he realized that maybe it wasn’t all Stiles wanted.

 

~*~

 

He met the Winchesters when he was hunting a wendigo in Canada.

There’d been a few tense minutes, when they first ran into each other that he was pretty sure Dean was going to shoot him. He was equally sure that Braeden vouching for him is all that saved his life.

But then, Braeden vanished with Sam--and that was an interesting turn of events--leaving him alone with Dean.

“Thought you’d be the one taking her home,” the hunter drawled, tipping back his beer and Derek had shrugged.

“Was, once. We’re better off as friends.”

Dean watched him with narrow eyes for a long moment and then his gaze swung to the pool tables and his smile turned predatory.

“So how ‘bout we have some fun?”

 

~*~

 

The first time he mentions it, Stiles is naked, hard, and begging.

They’d been playing with edging for a month now, and this was the longest he’d kept Stiles from coming--a week of dirty texts and long phone calls where he got himself off, and listened to his boyfriend whine.

But Stiles is a good boy, and he likes to submit to Derek, eager to play any game Derek suggests, never shy to ask for what he wants, and _breathtaking_ in his submission.

It’s never more evident than moments like this, when he’s flushed with want, his cock hard and leaking against his belly, legs splayed, hole wet and loose from Derek’s fingers and tongue, babbling almost incoherently with want.

“God, Stiles,” Derek murmurs, crawling up to kiss him, swallowing his moans. Stiles is crying, his eyes shining and Derek pets his shaking thigh as he slowly slides into him, relishing the broken little noise he makes, that he _always_ makes, when he first gets filled up.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispers. “Look so good like this.”

Stiles whimpers and Derek fucks him, slow, almost painfully slow, and it slips out without him even meaning to say it.

“Your fucking made for this, baby. To take my cock. Made to be fucked, just like this and choking on cock, baby. Wanna see how pretty you look like that.”

Stiles screams, then, comes untouched between them, messy and hot, clenching around Derek so hard and fast that it drags his own orgasm out and he loses a little time to it.

But when he can think again, he doesn’t forget. He kisses Stiles and cleans him, tells him he’s a good boy, curls around him, and he thinks about it.

 

~*~

 

He doesn’t bring it up unless they’re in bed. And he doesn’t even bring it up there, often. But it happens often enough that one morning he wakes up and Stiles is sitting on the counter near the coffee, and he’s glaring into it.

“You ok?” Derek asks, softly.

Stiles nods, and ducks deeper into his cereal bowl.

“Stiles,” Derek says, putting a touch of growl into his voice and the younger man’s head snaps up, glaring.

“ _Don’t.”_ He snaps and Derek blinks.

“Tell me what’s wrong, baby.”

“You--you know I’m happy, right? I don’t need anything else. I _love_ you.”

Oh. _Ohhh._ “Stiles, I know that,” Derek murmurs, taking the cereal from his boy’s limp fingers and crowding into his space. “That--I know you don’t want anyone else.”

“But--”

“You like dirty talk, sweetheart,” Derek says, “You always have. And you’re an exhibitionist.”

“I am _not.”_

“Tell that to Parrish,” Derek says dryly. “Or your dad.”

Stiles flushes and Derek leans in to steal a quick kiss. “Babe, I _like_ that about you.”

“I don’t want anyone else,” Stiles says, but his heartbeat is a mess.

Derek smiles. “But you would love a threesome.”

His scent goes hot and spicy, arousal flooding through him so fast it makes Derek groan, and press into him hard.

Stiles is panting when he pulls away from the kiss. “I don’t want to hurt you. I just--”

“Do you trust me?” Derek interrupts him and Stiles’ face goes soft and warm. He nods, and Derek smiles at him. “Then trust me. This--watching you strung out on pleasure between me and someone else, being worshipped the way you deserve, taking cock the way you were made for,” Stiles shudders and Derek nips at the delicate curve of his throat, his fingers digging into his hips. “That is not gonna hurt me. I swear. Just trust me to take care of you.”

And all of the tension drains out of him. He leans into the kiss and it’s sloppy and sweet, and desperate, the kind of hungry he will never get over from Stiles. Long fingers dance down his spine and over the curve of his waist before they dig in and Derek yelps as he jumps away, giggling.

“Gonna be late,” Stiles breathes sliding down from the counter.

He waved as he snatched up his bag and darted out the door and Derek watched him go.

And that was that.

 

~*~

 

He let’s it drop for a while, for long enough that he thinks Stiles has forgotten--or that Stiles thinks _Derek_ has forgotten.

Then he digs deep in his phone for a number he hasn’t called since he came back to Beacon Hills.

It rings three times, and then, “Well, well,” a low voice smoothes over the line. “Derek fucking Hale. How the hell are you?”

“Alive,” Derek says and Dean hums.

“Heard y’all had some shit a couple years ago. Glad you survived it.”

“Thanks. How’s--” Derek falters, not sure what to even refer to. Dean Winchester had always been more death and dying than even Derek wanted to touch.

His laugh is rough and happy though, and he sounds almost relaxed when he says, “Good. Life is good. We, uh--Cas and I are semi-retired.”

“Damn,” Derek says, a smile kicking up his lips. “Dean Winchester hung up his boots? I thought the world would end before that happened.”

Dean snorts, “It almost did. Five times.”

A low rumble comes from his end of the phone and Derek picks out, “Do not exaggerate, Dean.”

“Hey, Cas,” Derek says, grinning now. He _likes_ Dean’s angel.

“Hello, Derek,” the angel calls back, a touch of warmth filling his tone.

“So what’s up, Hale? You got a big bad you need help putting down?”

“Dean, we are _retired,”_ Cas growls and Derek laughs.

“No, no, nothing like that. I’ve actually--I’ve got a proposition for you.”

 

~*~

 

The first time Derek had sex with Dean, he’d spent a week with the Winchester brothers hunting down a nest of vampires. Braeden was busy retrieving a alpha’s heir in Quebec and when the brothers called in backup, Derek had volunteered to to come help out.

It was a slow hunt, chasing leads that never turned into anything, and getting more and more irritable as the body count stacked higher.

He realized what was happening, the antagonistic flirting, a little too late, and realized he _wanted_ Dean far too late to do anything about it--Castiel arrived in town in a foul mood and a wash of ozone scented power.

They took down the vamp nest within  a few hours of Castiel blowing into town, and Derek found himself as he so often did--across from Dean in a diner booth, Sam wandered away to parts unknown. Castiel was pushed up against Dean’s side, this time, and his sharp blue eyes were trained on Derek, over a steaming cup of coffee and a piece of pie he was guarding from Dean.

“You intrigue him,” Castiel says, and it jerks Derek’s head up. Dean kinda moans, a long suffering noise that Castiel completely ignores. “Would you like to fuck him? I would enjoy watching, if you would.”

Derek stared, for a long enough time that Dean squirmed and Castiel said, gently, “You are not required to do this. And nothing would be expected of you, should you do it, but to bring him pleasure for the time you are in our bed.”

He’s simple and blunt and almost painfully honest.

And Dean...Dean is heartbreakingly beautiful, and the jagged broken that Derek sees reflected in himself.

“Yeah,” he says, hoarsely, and then again, “Yeah. I want to do that.”

Castiel, when he smiles, is breathtaking.

 

~*~

 

“Derek,” Stiles shouts, slamming into the house, and Derek cranes his head back, “Der, hunters hit my wards a couple--”

He skids to a stop inside the den, his eyes wide and startled. “Hours ago,” he trails off, and then his gaze goes narrow and hard, and the hairs on the back of Derek’s neck lift. He bolts upright, catches Stiles hand as it comes up clenched and crackling with power.

“They’re friends,” Derek barks out, and his mate glares at him, but lets the power of his spark drain away, until he’s just human, just tense and angry and defensive.

“What the _hell_ are they doing here,” Stiles snaps.

“Do you trust me,” Derek asks, squeezing his hand and the tension and anger drains out of Stiles as he licks his lips. His gaze flicks to Dean and Castiel, standing quietly near the window, and Derek can almost see the moment it hits him--his eyes go wide and dazed and his scent goes sharp, spicy, the notes of arousal pulling a Pavlovian response from Derek as he hardens from just that--just Stiles’ arousal.

“Do you?” he murmurs, and Stiles nods.

 

~*~

 

The angel doesn’t touch.

Dean says it easily, with something like a smile, and Derek’s eyebrows hitch and Castiel shifts. “I do not _want_ to touch. This--you--give him pleasure, and that is what I want. I ask only that you obey if I make a request, and allow me to watch him.”

It’s not different now. Castiel lingers on the edge of the room while Dean sprawls, indolent and arrogant, in the overstuffed chair where Derek fucked Stiles the night before.

Stiles curls in Derek’s lap and watches with curious eyes. “What do you get from it?” he asks.

Castiel smiles. “Him. He’s unspeakably beautiful when he is taking his pleasure. I like--” his smile grows bashful, “I like to see that occasionally, when I can focus on it.”

“Cas,” Dean whines, craning his head around to grin at the angel.

“How do you know Derek?”

“We hunted together a few times,” Dean shrugs and Stiles stiffens in his lap. Derek rubs at his back, digging his thumb into his neck muscles, coaxing him to relax.

“Are you going to hunt here?”

Dean smiles, sharp edged and dangerous, the hunter every creature in America feared, the hunter who, rumor said, had no boundaries he would not cross, no deal he would not make to protect his brother and his angel.

It’s a wild desperation Derek has seen in Stiles, and it’s terrifying. His grip on the boy’s hip tightens.

“Dean and I are retired. We only assist Sam in research, when he needs it. We don’t hunt anymore,” Castiel says, and Stiles relaxes.

Interesting.

He doesn’t trust Dean, is still wary and cautious--but he does trust Castiel.

 

~*~

 

“Tell me how it works,” Stiles says, and Derek shrugs. Dean and Castiel retreated to check into a hotel--something Castiel insisted on, after watching Stiles, and they’re in the kitchen now, Stiles leaning against the counter with a bottle of beer while Derek cooks.

“However you want it to,” he says. “ _If_ you want it to. If you don’t, they come back, we have dinner, they leave and I fuck you in our bed. We don’t _have_ to.”

Stiles is silent, for long enough that Derek glances up, watching him. That spicy arousal hasn’t faded, just simmered, a low note to his familiar scent. But being turned on by an abstract doesn’t always mean the reality is something you want. Derek knows that more than most.

“I do. I just--” he bites his lip and worry makes him squirm. Derek turns immediately, the pasta salad he’s mixing together forgotten as he tugs Stiles into his arms.

“What is it, baby?”

“I don’t want you to be disappointed,” Stiles whispers.

Derek tilts his head up and rubs a gentle thumb over the boy’s tight, worried mouth. “You could never disappoint me,” he says, like a promise, like a truth he would never dream of questioning.

Stiles stares at him for a long moment and then leans forward and kisses him, gentle and deep.

“Ok.”

“Ok?”

He smiles, and nods, bites Derek’s lip before he kisses him again, deep and wet this time, “Let’s do it.”

He smirks and waggles his eyebrows when he pulls back. “Literally.”

Derek is smiling when he rolls his eyes. “I take it all back, everything I ever said. You're hopeless.”

Stiles gasps his indignation and starts arguing when Derek kisses him silent.

 

~*~

 

The thing he always forgets is _Stiles_.

Stiles who chased him, patient and intractable, when he ran. Stile, whose persistence and stubbornness kept him in a pack of wolves, and valuable to them.

Stiles who has never seen something he wanted and not chased after it with everything in him.

He always forgets _Stiles._

So when Dean and Castiel come back in, it shocks the hell out of Derek when Stiles greets them with a smile, when he walks up to Dean with a beer.

The only warning he gets is a slight tang of nerves in Stiles scent, a lighting fast look at Derek in the doorway, and then Stiles presses up against the hunter, lean and pale and soft against the hunters wide shoulders and hard hands and skin tanned by the sun.

Castiel makes a low noise as Stiles kisses the hunter, nothing tentative or hesitant in it.

Stiles might look the frail innocent but he's kinkier than Derek and single minded when he's turned on.

It's a hard press of lips Stiles’ fingers digging into the other man's shoulders, before he tilts his head and groans and Dean shudders, big hands coming down on Stiles’ narrow hips, tugging him close as he licks into the his mouth.

“Oh,” Castiel says, low and gritty. “He is--how can you share him?”

Derek shrugs, watching his beautiful boy, hips rolling as he rides Dean’s thigh now, “Because it makes him happy.”

Stiles breaks the kiss and Dean chases his lips hungrily, making a disgruntled noise when Stiles stills him with long practice born  from fucking a werewolf. “It would make me very happy if you would take me to bed now,” he says.

Derek's mouth goes dry.

Stiles’ mouth is wet and red and Dean looks dazed and wanting and he nods. “Yeah,” he says hoarsely, “Yeah, we can do that.”

 

~*~

 

Dean is held in Castiel’s arms as Derek undresses Stiles. His eyes are wide and he reeks of arousal, and Derek can hear the angel murmuring in Dean’s ear, but his focus is on Stiles.

On his mate, who is flushing now, pink high spots of color in his cheeks, his gazed dazed and dreamy.

He’s been with Stiles for three years and it’s never gotten old, removing his clothing, revealing the wiry strength that Stiles liked to hide, that Derek loved to push.

He shudders under Derek’s fingers, light brushes against his skin as he tugs his shirt over Stiles’ head, revealing all of the pale lanky strength of his chest, his muscular arms.

“You’re beautiful,” Derek murmurs and Castiel rumbles his agreement.

“Derek,” Stiles whines, his hips bucking under the barely there pressure of his hand, of his fingers hooking into the waistband of his jeans.

“What do you need, baby?” he murmurs and Stiles snarls. Grabs his hair and yanks him up and into a hard kiss.

“I need you to quit fucking playing,” Stiles growls, biting at his lips.

“Demanding, isn’t he.” Dean laughs and Stiles gaze flicks to him, still in the angel’s arms. He pushes Derek aside and moves to Dean. Castiel watches with interest as Stiles unbuckles his pants and Dean’s hips buck up. “Can you take his shirt off?” Stiles asks, and Castiel complies silently as Stiles sinks to his knees, taking Dean’s jeans and boxers with him.

He’s gorgeous, there, all pale skin and tight jeans and want, kneeling in front of the hunter and the angel, lips parted and a whine building in his throat.

“Fuck,” Dean groans, as Stiles takes him deep in his mouth, moaning in that way he has, the way he can’t seem to resist when his mouth is full of cock, and Derek almost comes, just from that.

This--this might be the best idea he’s ever had.

Castiel makes a low noise of approval and watches, his eyes curiously bright as Derek strips. Stiles is moaning now, and it’s muffled and almost obscene around Dean’s cock, the kind of hungry noises he makes when he’s getting close.

“Don’t come yet, baby,” Derek murmurs, naked and sliding behind his boyfriend. He tugs Dean forward by the hips, and Stiles makes this hungry choked noise, melting into Dean’s broken groan as he fucks into Stiles’ throat.

“God,” he hisses and Derek smirks.

“He’s good, isn’t he?”

“That--christ, kid, that fucking _mouth.”_

Pleasure and pride ripple off the boy, and Derek huffs a laugh at his absurdity, his preening, before he dips in and kisses the hunter.

Dean always smells like gun oil and leather, like herbs and dried blood, but he tastes--Derek groans, fists a hand in the other man’s dirty blonde hair and tugs him back, deepening the kiss, chasing the taste of beer and apple pie and ozone.

“Oh, fuck,” Stiles breathes, his voice rough and fucked out the way it always is after he hits his knees, and Derek reaches for him, drags him up easily, and turns away from Dean to kiss him, licking into his panting wet mouth, chasing the taste of Dean, and groaning when Stiles rocks into him, sucks on his tongue, digs his nails into Derek’s shoulders.

“Bed,” he says, when Derek finally breaks away. “Bed, we need bed, right now, where’s the _bed?”_

Dean breathes a laugh across Stiles pale throat, and Derek feels a snarl building in his throat that he forces down, because his mate is in his hands, desperate and arching into his touch, and he smells so good, so pleased and happy, he can’t help but lick a line up the curving column of his throat, tasting the scent at its source.

“Bed,” he agrees, and steers them with blunt force toward their massive bed.

Castiel has drifted away, but Derek can smell him in the corner, hot interest and sharply other, can _feel_ his bright blue eyes watching them, but he’s quiet, and it’s easy to forget that anything exists outside this bed.

Because Stiles is sprawled across their dark sheets, his legs splayed, long fingers reaching for Dean, perfect and pale and _wanting_.

“Dean,” Castiel says, suddenly and both Dean and Stiles blink at the angel, “Dean, I want you to fuck him.”

Dean whines, hips jerking before he says, helplessly, “Cas, fuck, don’t _talk like that._ ”

Castiel ignores the plea, and looks at Derek. “Is that amenable to you?”

“Yes,” Derek says. “I want his mouth. And when Dean is done--I want to fuck him.”

“Do I get to fuck anyone?” Stiles asks, cheekily and Castiel tilts his head, considering.

Nods once. “Dean. You can fuck Dean.”

 

~*~

 

The thing about Stiles is--he’s shameless, when he wants something.

It’s one of Derek’s favorite things, watching him come unraveled, skin flushed and mouth hanging open as Dean fingers him open. His fingers are digging into the sheets, twisting them as he rocks onto the hunter’s blunt, thick fingers and Derek hums, approvingly.

“Hurry _up,_ ” he groans, and Dean does something that makes him come almost off the bed, held down only by Derek’s hand slayed over his belly.

“Impatient brat,” Dean breathes and Stiles snarls.

“Enough,” Derek says, abruptly, pulling Stiles up and kissing him. “He’s ready.”

Dean gives Derek a quick searching look as Stiles scrambles to his hands and knees, his ass canted up, wet and inviting.

“He likes the stretch,” Derek says and Dean makes a choked noise before he rocks up on his knees.

 

~*~

 

Stiles does this thing, when Derek first pushes in to him. He goes silent, his whole face going lax and giving a full body shudder. He's never _seen_ it, not like this. The way his back arches and he pushes back into Dean's thrust.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs, and Stiles makes a whining noise, his eyes fluttering open to peer up at Derek. He makes it again, and Derek rubs his fingers over Stiles mouth. “Shhh, baby, you're ok.”

He shifts up and Stiles sighs in relief as he licks around Derek's cock, licking away the precome before he sinks down, taking Derek deep. Dean thrusts, and it pushes Stiles onto his cock, and drags a moan from him that shudders through Derek.

“Harder, Dean,” Cas says, voice raspy. “He'll like it, won't you, Stiles?”

Dean grunts and his rhythm picks up, slamming into Stiles with that delicious smack of skin on skin. The scent of sex fills the room, choking its so strong and he breathes, “God, baby, you’re just as pretty as I knew you'd be.”

“Not gonna last,” Dean pants, and then groans, “Fuck, kid, that wasn't a challenge.”

Stiles pulls off Derek's cock with an obscene pop and rocks back, hard, and Dean snarls, dragging Stiles up to kiss him as he comes with a final dirty grind of his hips and low groan.

Stiles is gasping and shaking and Derek smiles at him, a slow smirk. “You wanna come, don't you?”

Stiles whimpers and Derek laughs.

“Dean. Open yourself for him,” Castiel orders and Dean slips out of Stiles with a low groan.

Derek grins and kisses his mate, growling, “My turn.”

 

~*~

 

It’s...different. Stiles’ heart pounds, too fast, under him, and he hisses when Derek presses in, already stretched out and sore. He’s loose and _wet,_ slippery from lube and Dean’s spunk, and Derek groans as he slides in, through the mess of it, and Stiles whines, and arches up, pressing his back to Derek’s chest, sinking into the thrust as Dean leans in to kiss him.

“Beautiful,” Castiel rasps and Dean shudders. Stiles nips at his lip.

“Open yourself up, Dean,” he whispers and Dean moans as he fumbles for the lube to obey.

Derek thrusts hard into Stiles, his hands tight on the boy’s narrow waist, rocking him back into the thrusts, and Stiles--Stiles melts into it, begs for more, teases him, “ _This is what you wanted, huh, baby?”_  

And then Dean is open, and whining, his cock fattening up again and Stiles--

“Fuck him,” Castiel bites out. “Do it now, while Derek is fucking you.”

Derek almost comes at that, but he nods. Dean scrambles away, flips over and his ass is there, golden and flushed and freckled and Stiles groans at the sight, brushing almost reverent fingers over the sweet swell, down the dusky crack to find him, wet and open and slick.

“I want to eat him out,” Stiles breathes, and Dean’s hips jerk, push back against his featherlight touch, as Derek thrusts _hard,_ driving Stiles against him.

“Please,” Dean chokes out and Stiles makes an impatient noise--

And then Castile is there, lifting him, spreading him open and Stiles huffs in relief as he leans forward.

Dean screams, when Stiles fucks into him with his tongue, not hesitating or easing into it, just covering him with lips and tongue and teeth and _taking_ , and Derek’s thrusts make him rock forward. He hooks a finger, two, into Dean, pushes _deep_ and then spreads them, licking into the space while Dean whines and thrashes as much as the angel’s grip will allow.

Stiles glances up, searching for Castiel, and catches his gaze, twin blue flames and he shivers, sucks hard on Dean’s rim as the hunter mewls and shakes.

“Now,” Castile orders roughly, and Stiles nods, pulling away with a final slow lick, and then shifting up.

 

~*~

 

He thrusts into Dean the same way--hard and fast and with no hesitance, and the hunter groans, arches his back and pushes back for more.

Like this--suspended between Derek’s heavy weight and the tight heat of Dean--he feels effervescent. Like they are what’s tying him to earth, their touch and Castiel’s burning gaze.

For just a breathless moment, he wants to live in this endless eternity.

And then Derek thrusts, and it pushes him into Dean and they both cry out, pleasure in surround sound, and it all falls away.

He wants to slow down, wants to take it apart and examine the indescribable pleasure piece by piece, but it doesn’t work that way.

Dean pushes back as Derek fucks in and it’s a mindless, endless loop of pressure and pleasure and Castiel’s whispered praise and Stiles loses track of time, of space, of who is what and where, just knows _wantneedfuckminelustDerekfuckWANT_ and then he screams, his whole body shaking as he comes, a white hot rush of pleasure so sharp it almost hurts and it _does_  knock every thought offline.

 

~*~

 

Later, he’ll wake up sticky and sated and sore, and Castiel will peer at him from where he is tucked against Dean’s back, curled protectively around him.

Later, he will listen to the beat of Derek’s heart and the snuffle of Dean’s breathing and Cas’s quiet purr of contentment.

Later, he’ll kiss Cas, gentle and hesitant, until the angel presses back, gasping and demanding and hot.

Later, he’ll ride Dean while Derek strokes his cock and Castiel watches from the window seat.

Later, they’ll eat breakfast and laugh and he’ll wonder how he can be so comfortable with a hunter, held close by an angel.

Later, he’ll smile at Derek and see love and pride shining back. He’ll know that this was everything they both wanted.

But that’s later.

Now, he collapses with a groan and shudder-shocks of pleasure, and Dean curls him against his chest as Derek shifts away to lick at the mess on his thighs and between his checks, until Stiles twitches and squirms feebly, and then he flops behind his mate, covers him with a proprietary arm and Castiel pets a hand through Stiles hair from the far side of Dean.

Now, pressed against warm bodies that smell of sex, blissed out and happy, he sleeps.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on [Tumblr](http://areiton.tumblr.com/)! I babble about writing and pretty boys and that's about it. <3


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